Poor Pluto, our ex-planet, was recently re-labeled by astronomers and kicked out of the planetary hood.
The whole episode, closely followed in the press for all the residents of this planet to witness, reminded me of just how impermanent our reality is...and it brought home the truth of just how nasty and limiting labels can be.
Poor Pluto
For my family, Sundays in the 1960s centered on Roman Catholic mass.
I remember waking to the smell of bacon, the sound of "shoo-be-doo-be-doo" songs on the radio and getting to know the foreboding aura of church...incense, rituals, guilt.
Life was a cocoon. But outside the heavy church doors, outside our little home, chaos was coming.
Click on the link below. Are any of these memories familiar to you?
Memories of a Catholic Boy in The 60s
From my 'Waking Up' column at United Press International:
Buddhist teaching offers a way to peace and the end of suffering. It involves first understanding and being attentive to what's going on inside ourselves, particularly our kleshas--those poisonous emotional reactions to life's dramas.
Read on!
Curb Your Kleshas
I am very happy to announce that Renny, my Norwegian friend, with a swell blog about the beauty and wonders of Nordic Norway, is a Blogs of Summer - 2006 winner.
This distinction comes from Bloggin Outloud. Renny placed first in one of the "Random Blog" categories.
Check out Renny's blog; you'll enjoy the pictures of his lovely country, as well as the history and folklore of the villages and regions he visits. The link is to the right in the link column.
I wonder what it will take for people to stop killing each other.
I turned on the TV the other day. There was blood coming out of it. A mother held her lifeless baby in her arms and wailed, wide-eyed with disbelief, moving her head back and forth as if looking to get someone to tell her why.
I hope that she is sleeping so she can forget about her pain for a while. But maybe it's worse to sleep, because when she wakes up, it will only take a few seconds for her to remember that her baby, herself, her life, is gone. And then the grief will overcome her again. Who knows for how long.
I think that fear is very powerful. And I think that it is the basic, stripped-down reason that people kill each other and countries go to war.
We are afraid of losing some imagined, static state of happiness or goodness -- like little children who cry when they must leave the park at dusk and go home to bed. But we are not meant to hold on to these things. They aren't real anyway.
Is a border real? It is just a line on a map and it can and does change. In my childhood, there was a border that made Germany schizophrenic. But it's gone now.
If too many Muslims mix with Jews, will their religions change? Maybe. Maybe religions are supposed to change. Maybe when they mix they will see their sameness.
What if George Bush talked to Osama bin Laden? If he called a meeting and asked him why he is afraid, what American goodness would we surrender?
I wish I could stop being afraid.
I wish we could stop being afraid.
If we weren't afraid, we would not want to kill each other.
I was raised on this dogma-bit: Jesus is the only son of God.
So says the Roman Catholic Church.
But what if...
- Jesus was one of God's sons
- Buddha was another son of the one true God
- and so was Muhammad
- and let's not forget about Moses
- and Abraham.
Okay...so given that God doesn't carry around the prejudices we do (at least I hope he/she doesn't), it stands to reason that if there are sons of God...there must also be daughters of God. Maybe we just never think of noticing...because our culture didn't and still doesn't regard them that way? I'm talking about people like:
- Ruth
- Jeanne d'Arc
- Mother Theresa
- and every woman in history who gave up her life so that others might live...
One more point: what if the criteria for being a son or daughter of the Divine is 24/7 realization of our connectedness...and that God is present in everything and everyone in the universe? And through that realization, one is enlightened and becomes, or should I say, is reborn, as God, too.
Just asking.
Your thoughts on this?
Jittery.
Nervous.
Nerve-endings tingle and burn...
...and there's a sense that I'm going to crack any second.
These are the times that I can allow myself to take two roads.
I can embrace these feelings and offer compassion for myself, a mental hug. I can offer myself assurance and encouragement. I can say: 'Just as the down times come...so do the brighter, more optimistic feelings.
Or, I can try and fight and deny these feelings. That's a hard battle. Victory is not won easily, and there is nothing in it that prepares me for the next time I am visited by dark feelings.
What rises falls. And may I know this simple truth today and take comfort in it.
Elvis said it best: "Now and then, there's a fool such as I."
I'd like to be a fool.
What I mean is that sometimes the best position is that of a fool -- one who has no answers. A fool might even already have the answers; he or she just hasn't articulated it -- to themselves or to the world.
May I be a fool today.
Today, any suffering I create for myself
is an illusion
because it lives
astride the reality that Love is present
in and around me in the universe.
It is in every cell
of every
thing,
even in my breath.
I will know it
by
feel and smell and taste and whispers
in the wind.
It is rich, this love,
this spring,
this ceaseless miracle,
this bubbling well of sustenance.
Can I cup my hands
and offer
a drink?
This post is a reflection on the meditative practice of Metta...the Buddhist-based practice of discovering and affirming the essential goodness of ourselves and others. This tool is designed to help us soften our hearts to compassion for ourselves...and others. For many, it is a particularly helpful method of dealing with difficult people, remembering that, despite the current situation, these people are basically good...and they desire to be happy -- just as we do. The practice consists of meditating on a series of traditional phrases: May I be safeMay I have peace of mindMay I have physical well-beingMay I have ease of well-being. Many people who practice Metta often have trouble with the words "May I."For me, the conflict arose when my meditation teacher instructed us that, when we say these words in this practice, we should remember to affirm our right to safety, peace of mind, physical and overall ease of well-being.We are not asking for these things. How, I asked myself, could I get my mind around the dichotomy of meditating on these affirmatively...while using words that evoke a request, as in a prayer. In fact, my struggle with this is deeper than using words that don't seem to fit the occassion.It has a lot to do with feeling deserving of these states of being. But that's a whole 10 sessions on the therapist's couch. Rather, I want to share here a realization that I recently had -- which I think helps me understand Metta better (that rhymes). I hope this helps others who may be struggling with affirming...asking...being aware. This is a letter that I sent to my meditation teacher on March 19, 2006. Please forgive my irreverant humor. Dear Carole, I had a revelation…an “A-ha!” moment last night at Mass that I’d like to share with you.After meditating with the Host at communion, I heard the priest say: “The Lord be With You.” Now, that’s a phrase I’ve heard by rote since I was in short pants and Jack Kennedy was sleeping with hookers in the Lincoln bedroom. This time, however, the meaning of it hit me in a powerful, new way. I suddenly realized that ‘the Lord be With You’ is an affirmation…not a request. The Lord is with us always, and if there’s any request at all in that phrase…it’s not to the Lord…it’s an implied request for us to wake up & recognize that the Lord is with us. It’s like Metta’s “May I be safe.” We’re not asking for it…we’re already safe, and we have the capacity to know this essential truth. We’re just reminding ourselves of that inherent safety…and perhaps more importantly, our ability to wake up and know that we’re safe. Carole, this has reaffirmed by belief that it is beautiful to learn about all our brothers’ & sisters’ spiritual traditions. The truths of Buddhism, Christianity, Judaism, Hinduism, Islam, any tradition that draws us closer to the Spirit…are like so many flickers of gold in the divine stream. If we do the work and pan for those glimmering bits of wisdom and insight, we become rich…enlightened. Thanks for your priceless guidance!
Christopher Reeve's Widow Dies at Age 44
Perhaps today Dana & Christopher Reeves are running together, hand-in-hand, through a celestial blue surf.
During meditation yesterday, as I was focusing on my breath, I became aware of a message.
It was a kind of 'knowing': 'Pay attention to the space between the breaths, too.'
So I began to become aware of that space, how my lungs feel as they get ready to fill up again...the slight pang of compression that comes before I actually draw in the new air.
That space...that second in which the body takes a break from breathing...is very interesting. It is also uncomfortable.
As I practiced over and over again, I became aware that this space, this uncomfortability, is part of the process. It is to be noticed...even appreciated...along with the joyful reassurance of full, satisfied lungs.
I think that this was a good message for me to hear...and to know.
The uncomfortable parts of life are part of the process, my process. The stuff you can't figure out or that causes you pain and suffering--they are tied into the fun, peaceful times.
Sad or happy, mad or at peace...these are just states of body and mind. They don't define me.
And, if I choose to...or if I'm disciplined enough...I can recognize that...and accept the pluses and minuses together--as just experiences, simply experiences.
One by one, they will arise and fall away...but I'll still be here.
Sometimes it's so hard for me to just be.
It's like I've got this war going on inside of my head, a series of debates.
It happens when something makes me sad or angry, and the internal conversation typically sounds like this: "Oh, that's not right...I shouldn't have thought that!" Or, "Don't be so judgemental of him/her."
I get so tired sometimes because I don't want to figure everything out...and yet...I feel like I have this need to do that. And then there are situations in life, encounters with friends or family--or personal issues that I deal with daily--that I haven't got any power over. But I'm still left with these feelings of helplessness or anger or judgement -- a sense that something is wrong, like a murky cloud that hugs the earth...obstructing my view.
I don't like feeling this way.
I'm throwing my hands up. I surrender.
Steady.
I need to remind myself to be aware of each moment as it comes. I want to put my trust out there to relieve myself of the burden of suffering. I can do that by breathing, and knowing only that breath...for just that short moment. And yet, I can extend this joy by breathing and knowing...breathing and knowing...over and over again.
And I want to take refuge in Jesus. I have this image of Him and me looking across a green pasture. It is bordered on one side by a wall of old stone, dug up from the soil by generations of worriers before me, farmers. Behind us is a narrow dirt road, lined on each side by sugar maple trees - flaming in their red and orange autumn clothes. The odd birch tree that stands among them adds a mix of green.
There is a pleasant sound of leaves flickering in the slightest stir of air.
And the sun is warming, reaching deep down to my bones.
We sit there, He and I. We have our arms around each other's shoulder, like two childhood buddies who have not let adulthood shame them. And we look across the field to the mountains beyond.
Hawks criss-cross the sky, and there is the scent of fresh cut hay.
All we need to do is rest. The silence is our dialogue.
No thinking. Just being.
All is well.
This is enough for Him…
And all I ever want.
I added a link about hate today.
It's a website created to remember the survivors of the Holocaust, the Nazi campaign to eliminate the Jews of Europe and Russia. They also killed Gypsies, the handicapped, homosexuals and others they deemed undesirable and unfit to breathe.
Since I first learned about the Holocaust in high school, I still can't believe that this happened in plain sight, out in the open for the world to see.
And I used to think that this kind of thing could never happen again, but, really, when you look at world history, it is a repeating cycle of one group killing another.
The culprit: the delusion that we are different...because of religion...or skin color...or nationality...or sexuality. Suffering from this delusion, we then create a superior...and an inferior.
The antidote: love, and if you can't love, awareness...that everyone is an individual - not a race or a group.
I have seen tons of holocaust pictures. I've seen movies of bulldozers moving bodies into mass graves. I've seen pictures of frightened, dazed people...torn from their beds at night...and herded into cattle rail cars for a trip to the death camps. I even visited a concentration camp, Dachau, in Germany.
And at the U.S. Holocaust Museum in Washington, D.C., I saw an exhibit of thousands of shoes stripped from people, as they arrived in those camps and were methodically turned from individuals to numbers.
This stuff is never easy to look at. But at some point, maybe because of the sheer scale of the horror, the brain shuts off. To protect yourself, you become numb, steeled.
But then there's this photo -- above. It makes me shudder every time I look at it.
This woman tries to cover her child as a German SS officer aims his gun at them. There is no logic in her action. In the photo, off to the left, other rifles have just felled more victims. She can't think that her child will escape death.
No, at work here is just the pure instinct of a mother trying to protect her baby.
This picture is the best argument for love not hate.
Don't want to let February pass without a small tribute to a pioneer and legend of classic Rock-n-Roll: Buddy Holly.
Buddy died in the first hours of a bone cold, snowy February 3, 1959, along with stars Ritchie Valenz ("Donna") and the Big Bopper ("Chantilly Lace") in a small plane taking off from their gig in Clear Lake, Iowa. They were headed for their next stop on the infamous Winter Dance Party tour of the American Midwest.
This photo was taken from a backstage angle that night.
I wasn't even alive when he was making hits. Still, during a 50s revival in the 70s, I 'discovered' him.
I like Holly because of his wonderful "Rock-a-Billy" sound, that unique mixture of American country music and rock. He's one of the best in that genre, right up there with folks like the Everly Brothers and Gene Vincent.
Check out the link to the right, where there are a lot of good Holly tunes. I recommend clicking on Jukebox #6 to listen to "Think it Over."http://www.dapatchy.com/oldies/
Right before his death, he was venturing more into writing and producing. Indeed, the music he recorded himself in his NY apartment, and which he left behind, showed remarkable creativity -- advanced for that time period. The Beatles, the ubergroup of the 60s, who I think represent one of the mileposts in the progression of R&R, said that they were highly influenced by the sound of Holly.
Anyway, thanks for the music, Bud. If I get to 'heaven,' you're on the list of people I want to meet. After Jesus, of course.
Today, my world is white. There’s close to two feet of snow on the ground now, and it’s still coming down – fast, driven sideways by the wind.
From the window, my view is obscured by drifts, but I can see that the world has shut down.
No cars in the street…only the muffled sound of children making the most of this fresh coating of imagination. With it, they’ll make castles and forts and pretend to fight long ago battles – but with snowballs not bullets.
I’m happy, warm…inside. My morning newspaper was delivered in the wee hours sometime. It’s buried somewhere on my front path.
Who cares? I’ll read my book, the one I got for Christmas that I’ve been meaning to pick up and start.
I’m happy that the world has stopped, if just for a day. A forced period of rest, quiet.
I wish people everywhere could have a snow day.
Seems the fog in my mind thickens as I log each new year, but these things I can still see:
